You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.”
((How do you respond?))
Example: Ferdy's eyebrow piqued slightly, peering around the dark and deshevelled tent, seemingly not scared by the older crone. He shrugged dismissively and sat on the cushion, arms folded peering around "My story?" He pondered, taking a sip from his waterskin and cleared his throat. "Well.. i'm an entertainer afterall, it all started.. with a pot and some lamb." He said with a grin from ear to ear.
Ferdy's eyes wandered lazily as he continued, his tone infused with a hint of indifference. "I've been wandering all over the place, spreading my so-called joy to the halfling communities at first... Started out as a kid, y'know? Just messing around with the other brats, telling 'em stories about adventures and things. They ate it up like sweet potatoes." He paused, a flicker of reminiscence crossing his face, before he snapped back to the present.
"I guess that's when I realized I had a knack for this entertainment thing. Decided to make a career out of it. Traveled from one podunk village to another, telling stories, making people laugh, cry.. angry. People ate that stuff up too, I tell ya. They couldn't get enough of me." He gestured to the sword he had brought with him. "Needed this for when the uh..Ahem.. jealous types came around. I ain't great with it.. but people get nervous when they see a scrappy li'l guy swinging metal." He grinned once more, the air of cockiness if it could be observed was at a 100 percent right now.
Ferdy's hands made some lazy gestures, lacking the enthusiasm of his performances. He leaned back, his tone dripping with apathy.
"But fame, it's a double-edged sword. The pressure to always be the best, the constant need to come up with new tricks—it got old real quick. I needed a break, a chance to find my groove again. That's why I ended up in this craphole of a town. Heard it had some mystical vibe or something like that. Figured maybe it'll spark some inspiration or whatever."
He slouched further into the cushion, his gaze meeting the hag's eyes, his tone pretty much with a bang on indifference.
"So, what's the deal, old lady? Can you see into the future or something? Will this place give me the solace and inspiration I'm looking for? Or am I just wasting my time in this dim, crappy town?--Oh" He'd realised that the Pot and Lamb never came into the story. "The pot and lamb was today's lunch."
As a sidenote, in the previous section the appearance would not allow me to type anymore than what i had done, so here it is in this section.
Wears a dark purple Leather vest with a hood, green shirt, and purple boots along with braces underneath the vest, green eyes, chestnut brown hair, small but physically competent with some muscle, not much though. Stands at around 3ft 3'' tall and weighs around 50-60lbs. Ferdi has a small scar across his right cheek from when he was escaping a particularly upset farmers wife's bedroom.
The character is based on Scanlan Shorthalt from Critical role, in terms of attitude ( Maybe a bit more assholeish though.)
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